Fire and Ice
by imelda72
Summary: In my first fanfic ever, Ginny Weasley and Draco Malfoy are thrown together by a letter, a newspaper article, and a clearing in the forest. Will Draco achieve the vision he was given in the forest? Will Ginny help him? Read and find out!
1. Chapter 1

FIRE AND ICE  
  
Some say the world will end in fire,  
  
Some say in ice.  
  
From what I've tasted of desire,  
  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
  
But if it had to perish twice,  
  
I think I know enough of hate to say  
  
That for destruction ice  
  
Is also great and would suffice.  
  
--Robert Frost  
  
On a beautiful autumn day, Ginny Weasley lay on the front lawn of Hogwarts, gazing up at the grey-blue sky and reveling in the cool air. Neville Longbottom sat next to her, hugging his knees, gazing out at the lake. Ginny watched his brown hair blow in the soft wind, and smiled. He reminded her a lot of Harry; he was a sort of less-successful version of The Boy Who Lived. Neville wasn't as good in classes or in duels or as comfortable socially, and he was certainly more absent-minded, but just like Harry he was above all a good person. He valued bravery, loyalty and fairness, and she loved him for it. He was her best friend.  
  
"Neville, let's freeze time."  
  
"What's that?" He turned to look down at her.  
  
"Let's freeze time. I want life to be exactly like this moment." He nodded in understanding. The mood was peaceful, content, comfortable, and surrounded by the beauty of fall, Ginny's favorite season. It was the season of all good things coming to an end; bittersweet and beautiful.  
  
"Things will never get better if we stop now."  
  
"They'll never get worse," Ginny said, to play devil's advocate. "But you're right. I want things to be fantastic, not just pleasant. I only said that because..." she glanced around to make sure no one was nearby, "I'm scared, Neville. I'm scared that from hereon in, everything's going to get a lot worse. Voldemort's back. It's been quiet for too long. Something's going to happen; I can feel it."  
  
"Can you really?" Those of the magical world knew better than to brush off hunches and intuition as superstition. Ginny nodded.  
  
"And I feel like...whatever it is, it's coming for me. Alone."  
  
"But you know I'm here, no matter what comes," Neville said, taking her hand. She smiled gratefully at him. "You can't be alone." But he was wrong.  
  
The Slytherin common room was dark as always, lanterns flickering on the walls barely making up for the complete lack of windows. Draco Malfoy sat low in a tall green armchair, rereading a letter from his father and scowling. At first glance, or to the casual (or unfriendly) observer, the letter might appear pleasant enough: I am sure you are working hard at your studies...Your aunt and I are considering a new business venture and will be off to meet with new backers for the next fortnight...We all look forward to seeing you this December...But Draco knew better; he knew enough to read between the lines and understand that his father was threatening him to make sure he kept up with whatever Dark magic he knew, that he and Bellatrix Lestrange were going off on a recruiting mission and was warning him not to send letters, and that "we" meant the Dark Lord, who planned on initiating Draco into his circle that year.  
  
He could do nothing but scowl. He certainly could protest nothing his father said; that would mean opposing the Dark Lord, and while he did not feel ready to become a Death Eater he certainly was not willing to fight. The main reason he did not want to be one of the Dark Lord's henchmen was because he did not want to turn into his father; though he loved him he did not want to be him. Already there were too many similarities—the disdain for Mudbloods and Muggle-lovers, their taste in clothes, a dismissive attitude towards witches—and Draco was frightened that he would end up like his father, with a wife who didn't love him and a life spent either avoiding persecution through bribes or working as a pawn for someone else. Draco didn't know what he wanted, but he knew it wasn't that.  
  
No, that was a lie, he realized as his scowl deepened substantially. If he were honest with himself, he would admit he knew what he really wanted: Harry Potter's life, with friends who could actually provide intelligent conversation, with no parents to direct his life for him, with Quidditch skills like his. Not that he himself was bad at Quidditch; not at all. He was pretty damned good. Maybe it was just Potter's broom that he wanted. But his father refused him a better broom until he had beaten Potter at least once, and that had yet to happen. Lucius hadn't even wavered when Draco got Potter kicked off the team. He had just said that now his son had no chance of ever getting a Firebolt. Damn Potter, the gormless, grubby Gryffindor. If only he could—  
  
"Aww, come on, Blaise, can't ye give us a rash? Jus' a bite, tha's all."  
  
"If you two peckerheads don't leave me alone right now I will send curses your way that will prevent you from ever having children. Or even trying to." Crabbe and Goyle shrank off, snickering, as Draco knew they would. Annoying Zabini was a favorite pastime of theirs, but they always stopped short of really angering him. He was, after all, quite a scary seventh year. "Draco, all by yourself? Sulking over our daddy, are we?"  
  
"Piss off, Blaise," Draco said half-heartedly. Zabini didn't really bother him, but his insults hit too close to home. It was no one's business but his own what he thought about his father. He shrunk his letter with a wave of his wand and stuffed it into an inside robe pocket.  
  
"Oh, chin up, now, mate. Can't be that bad."  
  
"Do not call me 'mate'," Draco said with a dark look. Blaise didn't even squirm, something Draco respected him for. Crabbe or Goyle would have been blubbering by now. Blaise was a decent Slytherin. "Are you going somewhere or do you plan on pestering me all day?" In response, Blaise sat down on a chair across from his and grinned.  
  
"Thought I'd bug you all day, if you don't mind. I'm a little bored, myself. Whadda you say?"  
  
"Go bother those two," he gestured towards Crabbe and Goyle, who were snorting over a magazine in the corner. "They clearly could benefit from...more sophisticated entertainment."  
  
"Ah, but Draco, so could I. Not more sophisticated, but at least something more intelligent than, 'heh, heh, look at those knockers, heh.'" His imitation of Goyle was remarkable, and Draco had to smirk a little. The two goons in the corner were, of course, oblivious. "So tell me what dear old dad has to say this week."  
  
"Hey—I'll put up with you, Zabini, but that's it. Don't think you're getting free admission into my personal life. You can sit there, and that's about it, for now."  
  
"Well thank you for your permission, Malfoy, seeing as this is your personal living room, and all. I'll sit wherever I like, thank you. Don't overstep your bounds." Draco was scowling again, and Blaise laughed. "Now that that's done with, I have something to tell you." He glanced around carefully and leaned forward, inspiring Draco to do so, too. "Look I want to show you something phenomenal, but it's outside, and right now the grounds are packed with moronic Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs going for walks or playing juvenile ball games. So I need to know if you're willing to sneak out of the castle at night." Draco had to ponder over this for a while—how much did he really trust Blaise? Though he liked the boy, the truth was: he trusted him as much as any one else, other than his mother; that is to say, not very much.  
  
"Well, what is it you want to show me?"  
  
"Are you joking? I can't tell you here. You just need to know that it's unbelievable. Really fantastic. Trust me, Draco. Do you want to go tonight?"  
  
"Well, tonight, no," he said, hiding his relief, "I have prefect patrol. Tomorrow, too, and the night after that I should really sleep, for our Hufflepuff game. Look, do I need to do it anytime soon?"  
  
"Not really, it's been there for years, but why not go tonight? It's perfect. You can just slip out while on patrol!" Now Draco really was suspicious.  
  
"Look, if I'm going to sneak out of the castle on your advice, you'll be coming with me." Blaise gave him a shrewd look.  
  
"Ah. I see. You don't trust me. That's fine, we'll find a night we can both go. You're the first person I'm telling this to, Draco, and believe me, you don't want to miss out."  
  
"Can you tell me anything about it?"  
  
"Not here. I'm sure if anything like this got back to the professors, they'd destroy it in an instant." That rather piqued Draco's interest, and Blaise, seeing this, grinned. "Yes, my delinquent friend, it's quite off- limits. Forbidden, if you get my meaning."  
  
"It's in the forest?" That was not a good sign. Ever since his first year, when Potter had gotten him detention in the stupid forest, Draco had been secretly terrified of the place. He tried to avoid it at all costs.  
  
"Yeah, but it's not so far in. We can enter far away from that lump of a groundskeeper's hut, and it's only about two or three minutes in. It's completely safe, Draco. Don't let fear keep you from seeing this."  
  
"Fear of what, exactly?" Draco snapped. Blaise wisely said nothing. "I'll think about it, alright?"  
  
"No, it's not alright! Are you crazy? Gods...look, let's meet somewhere more private so I can tell you about it. Can we go now?"  
  
"Where?" Blaise led him out of the common room, up a few moving flights of stairs to the third floor, and down a corridor into a room that had a trap door. "What's down there?"  
  
"What? Oh, nothing. But look, no one ever comes here. C'mon." he walked to the other side of the room and sat down. "Alright," he began in a low voice, "just inside the Forbidden Forest there's this little clearing, right? And I went there and—"  
  
"What were you doing in the forest?"  
  
"It doesn't matter, just listen. So I stumbled into the clearing, and...well, first I fell down, but then a vision came to me. A vision of the future." His voice sped up as he grew more excited. "That's what the clearing does, it shows you the future. It showed me what I would do as an adult and...alright, here's the truth, it showed me showing the clearing to you. I know it sounds crazy, Draco, but I saw myself as an adult and I saw what kind of a life I would lead."  
  
"What did you see?" Blaise's face clouded somewhat and looked away.  
  
"I'd rather not tell you. It's pretty person. But, look, don't you want to see it?" He did, desperately. But he still wasn't entirely sure of Blaise's motives, and certainly wasn't eager to trust anything in that forest. But he knew he would go.  
  
"Alright, look, this Saturday, alright? I can go Saturday night. Will you bring me there?"  
  
"Yeah, definitely! Just don't—"  
  
"Tell anyone, I know." They nodded at each other and stood up. "Let's get out of here before someone catches us."  
  
"You embarrassed to be seen with me, Drakie?" Blaise batted his eyelashes and Draco snarled.  
  
"Always."  
  
"Creevey, kindly allow your partner to handle the hellebore. It is an extremely limited substance, and as we are all aware of your remarkable propensity for destroying valuable materials, I would prefer it if you kept as far away from this one as possible." The Slytherins in the classroom snickered as Colin miserably handed Ginny the hellebore, and Snape swept back to his desk, confident that he had ruined another Gryffindor's day.  
"Don't listen to him," Ginny whispered coolly, though she knew that Snape was right. So far that year Colin had spilled jars of aconite, bubotuber pus, stewed lacewing flies, skinned shrivelfig, and dead spiders. And that was only in one month. Colin was really monumentally clumsy, as bad as Tonks.  
"Easy for you to say. He never bothers you. You're good at this stuff." Ginny shrugged. That was true too. Potions was one of Ginny's two best subjects, along with Defense Against the Dark Arts. More specifically, they were her only two good subjects. The rest of her classes she rather piddled along in. She was sure Snape managed to take his anger out on her by pairing her with Colin, but of course she never mentioned this.  
"He's just a lonely, bitter man," she whispered again. "Ignore him." Colin grumbled, but let her get back to work. He knew she disliked being distracted while concocting a potion. Ginny smiled as she got back to work, contentedly measuring out ingredients for the Draught of Peace. It came as an unpleasant surprise, then, when the door of the class opened and the room grew silent to see who would enter.  
Albus Dumbledore entered the room and paid no attention to any of the students whose class he had interrupted. He walked right up to Snape, whispered in his ear for a few protracted seconds, and swept out again. The fifth year Gryffindors and Slytherins looked up silently and expectantly at their Potions professor.  
"Leave your potions as they are and I will cast a preserving charm on them. You will continue brewing the Draught of Peace in our next class. For now, class is dismissed." There was a very short, stunned silence, but Snape narrowed his eyes and they all hurried to pack their bags. No one dared ask him why they were getting out of class early, but they certainly discussed the possibilities among themselves in the hallway. Ginny told Neville all about it in the common room.  
"Maybe he was called for the Order," he suggested in a very low voice. Since the end of last year Neville had known all about the Order of the Phoenix, and Ginny was thankfully free to talk to him about it. "Maybe Dumbledore got word of a Death Eater gathering, and he had to go spy."  
"I don't know," Ginny said doubtfully. "Why would Snape not know about it, then? You know, he has the Dark Mark, and all. I kind of thought something bad had happened—don't you remember my...my feeling, from a couple of days ago?" Neville nodded.  
"But you said it had something to do with you." Ginny just shrugged.  
"We're grasping at straws, here. It could be anything. Harry and them probably know something, but of course they won't tell." She knew that she might be able to eavesdrop on them, though. "I wish we could do something."  
"You always wish we could do something. We'll be graduating in a couple of years, then we can."  
"Correction; you'll be graduating in a couple of years. I'm graduating in three years. But, cor, Neville, you really think Voldemort will still be around years from now?" Neville flinched at her use of Voldemort's name, but did not complain, as he was used to it from her by now.  
"Yeah, Ginny, I think it's very possible."  
"I hope you're wrong."  
They found out the following morning why Dumbledore had rushed into the classroom. Plastered on the cover of Hermione's Daily Prophet was a photograph of a wizarding family, the Chittocks. They had been attacked in the late afternoon and were all killed, including a 10 year old son named Murray. A Dark Mark had been left floating over the roof of the house.  
"Oh, gods, it's really starting," Ginny said in a hushed voice, clutching at Neville's arm. She glanced over at Ron, Hermione and Harry, who were all leaning towards each other over the table and talking in hushed voices. They knew something, she could tell, but how could she get it out of them? All three of them then glanced over at the Slytherin table, and then stood up and hurried out of the Great Hall. Ginny followed the path of their gazes, but she saw nothing noteworthy at the table other than the absence of Draco Malfoy. Shrugging, she read the article. Unsurprisingly, the Ministry planned to do everything it could to find the perpetrators, but Ginny knew they would be unsuccessful. All that mattered was that Death Eaters had been behind it all, and they had already broken out of Azkaban once. The Chittock family would get no justice. "I'm going to class, Nev," she said, and somewhat dazedly got up and left the Hall.  
Somewhere along the way to Charms she took a wrong turn, but barely noticed. She was too distracted to really care where she was, and too filled with compassion to turn away from the pale, desperate, miserable figure she stumbled into. 


	2. Chapter 2

Finally, here's chapter 2 (not that anyone has been waiting). The usual disclaimer applies; all the characters and locations belong to JK Rowling, I claim nothing but the out-of-character behaviors and the story.

Draco was running late. He _hated_ being late, unless it was on purpose, but this time he had overslept and was bound to miss breakfast if he didn't get a move on. He hated hurrying, too, and despite the empty dormitory feared being caught in a less-than-cool moment. In short, he was in a terrible mood, and was not disposed to being kind to Pansy Parkinson as he made his way out of the common room. She gave him a smile which he easily ignored, and frowned as he pushed past her.

"Draco, wait!" she called, and he stopped.

"I'll give you six seconds exactly, Pansy. Beginning now."

"I just wanted to know if you've seen the news." She handed him a copy of that morning's _Daily Prophet. _"That awful boy we don't like, Murray Chittock, and his family have been killed by the Dark Lord. Take a look." He did indeed, and as he saw the picture on the front page an icy chill ran through his entire body. _It couldn't be..._

"Six seconds are up," he managed to Pansy, who was waiting for a reaction, and she pouted and entered the common room. Draco was left to fall apart in peace; he lost the strength in his knees and only the wall next to him caught him from collapsing. Murray Chittock was dead...

Draco reached frantically into his robe pocket and, sure enough, there it was, the shrunken letter from his father. He snatched the parchment out and managed to cast an Engorgement spell on it after several failed attempts. He scanned the letter...no mistaking it, there it was, clear as glass in his father's handwriting: _Your aunt and I are considering a new business venture and will be off to meet with new backers for the next fortnight. Along the way we will stop by the Chittock house. I will give them your regards._ His father had done this, but it was Draco's own fault; he could remember complaining about the liberal overtones of Glenda Chittock's Wizarding Wireless Network talk show, and the condescension her son always expressed to Draco whenever they visited. That kid had really pissed him off, and now Lucius had killed him. For Draco's sake—he had _given him his regards_. Draco thought he might vomit. He stumbled along the passageway, not knowing where he was going but hoping that he could leave his guilt behind, hoping that some movement would warm him up from this terrible coldness he felt inside of him.

He blindly turned a corner at some point and, completely unconscious of what he was doing, walked right into someone.

"Sorry—I'm so sorry," he gasped, barely seeing and not noting the red hair of the girl who stood in front of him.

"It's alright," she said in a gentle voice that broke him, and he let out a tearless sob and fell into her arms.

"It's alright," Ginny found herself saying. She was too stunned to be anything but nice in response to this completely unexpected occurrence—Draco Malfoy, wandering aimlessly, his face much paler than usual and looking as wretched as she had ever seen anyone. She was even more shocked when he reached out and fell against her, burying his head in her neck. But there was only one thing to do; she put her arms around him and stroked his head and his back soothingly.

"It's alright," she whispered again into his ear.

"It isn't," he said, "it's horrible—too horrible to bear. How could I..."

"It's not your fault," she said instinctively. He nodded into her shoulder, which was surprisingly dry. He wasn't crying. But he was shaking, and she tightened her hold around him. "It's not," she insisted. He didn't say anything for a while, so she didn't, either, and simply rubbed his back until his shaking subsided and he began taking deep breaths. "That's better. It'll all be alright, now. Just breathe." She couldn't stand the thought of anyone being this upset, and was glad to see Malfoy calming down somewhat. He loosened his arms from her shoulders and held up his hand without looking.

"It's all in this letter, see?"

"What letter?" He looked up, then, and apparently realizing that he held nothing in his hand, got a fearful look on his face.

"The letter!" he whispered in horror, and with a completely cursory look at her face, turned around and rushed off down the hallway. Ginny didn't move a muscle for a good five minutes. When it was clear he was not coming back, she turned in the opposite direction and made her way to the Charms classroom. She was not late, but was the last to arrive. She sat down towards the back, in a seat next to Colin.

"Are you alright?" he asked upon seeing her face. She couldn't even begin to imagine what she looked like—what on _earth_ had just happened?—so she nodded blankly and said nothing. She wasn't able to cast a single charm that period; she kept thinking back to Malfoy's stricken face. What did he think was his fault? What was the letter he had been so scared upon losing? Had he found it? She found herself hoping that he had.

_Great Merlin, what had he been thinking? _He hadn't been thinking, that much was obvious. The realization of what he had done didn't even hit him until he had his father's letter in his hands again; found in a dark corner on his second sweep of the hallways. He had reached down and picked it up, an enormous feeling of relief washing over him. He had been convinced that a professor would find the letter and realize who had killed the Chittocks, and that the whole thing had been inspired by Draco himself. He had been sure he was destined for Azkaban. Then he found the blessed, cursed letter and burned it.

As soon as he had, of course, his mind harkened back to the scene of three minutes ago. A new horror washed over him as he remembered the girl's red hair—it was _Ginny Weasley_. Of all people for him to go mindlessly confessing to, it had to be a Gryffindor, and one of Potter's friends. What had he told her? He could barely remember. He was pretty sure she had asked if it was his fault, and he was sure he had said it was. Did she know what he was talking about? If she saw the _Daily Prophet_, she might be able to draw the connection. Should he hunt her down and Obliviate her? He struck that idea immediately. It was too dangerous, as he hadn't properly learned the curse. But if it turned out that she was more dangerous, he would have to do it. The crime had already been committed, and now he needed to make sure he stayed safe.

He did feel distinctly calmer, though, largely thanks to her soothing voice and hands. As much as he hated her, he was glad she had been around for that reason. As long as she didn't go blabbing...he would have to do something to make sure she didn't. If only he had something to blackmail her with. But she was a Gryffindor, and a Weasley. She probably had nothing to hide.

_Everyone has a price,_ his father's voice echoed in his mind. It was a family mantra. Could he somehow buy her silence? She was poor, surely if he offered her enough money, she'd agree. Of course, then he would be the one being blackmailed. But it seemed to be his only option. If she got too greedy, or began to regret the deal, then he would be forced to appeal to his father to be taught the Obliviating curse. For now he would put that off for as long as possible.

Thank Circe it was Friday, at least. He would certainly skive off his first class, Arithmancy, and would only then consider the rest of his classes. He now made his way back to his dormitory. It was entirely empty. Pansy had gone to class, thankfully, along with the rest of his house. He went to his room and countered the locking hex on his trunk to open it. From the top of the mess inside he picked up a suede pouch that clinked with the distinctive sound of money, and shoved it into his robes. Whatever was in there ought to be enough to buy off the little Weasley, and he couldn't imagine she'd have a very high price anyway. But then, no one ever said that the very poor weren't creative. She might have a lot of uses for a lot of galleons.

Draco decided to go to his second class, as it was Potions, and he hoped that watching Snape torture the Gryffindors would cheer him up somewhat. It did, but only slightly. He couldn't manage to forget the awful situation he was in—responsible for the death of three people, with his father surely expecting an expression of gratitude in the near future, and a third party probably ready to either milk him for all he was worth or turn him in to the proper authorities. Not to mention, his own guilt was overwhelming. What a big, fat mouth he had. Three people would still be alive if only he had known how to shut up in front of his crazy father.

He flinched, physically, at that thought. If his father ever knew he had called him crazy...suffice it to say, it was not a pretty thought.

By lunchtime Ginny was feeling somewhat normal; the memory of Draco Malfoy's pitiful condition was fresh in her mind, but she managed not to think of it and to focus on Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were once again whispering together in heated discussion. Ginny couldn't hear a word that they were saying, though she was seated closest to them. She kept a sharp eye on their lips, hoping to catch a word or two by reading them. She caught two words: _murder _and _Malfoy._ She had to shiver. Neville noticed, and leaned over.

"All right, Ginny?"

"Yes, shh," she encouraged, trying to hear more. She glanced across the Great Hall to see if Malfoy was sitting in his usual seat; he was, and moreover, he was glaring at her. She nearly jumped—how could he look at her that way, after the way he had held on to her earlier that day? Only Malfoy would be capable of it. She rolled her eyes and looked away. Neville was watching her again. "What?"

"Why was Malfoy looking at you?"

"Why does Malfoy do anything he does? He's demented." Neville snickered. Ginny made it a point not to look back at the Slytherin table, but when she ducked out of the Great Hall early to change her books, she felt a hand tug her arm and turned to see Draco Malfoy. A very cold looking Malfoy.

"I need to talk to you, Weasley."

"Go on, talk," she said coolly. He looked around them pointedly.

"This is not a good place. Follow me." He walked off without waiting for an answer, and she followed him out of the main doors and onto the lawn. Glancing about to make sure they were alone, he withdrew a bag from the pocket of his robes and looked at her with sharp eyes. "I'll make it very worth your while if you don't mention what I said—or did—this morning to anyone." He waited for an answer, but she just stared at him in disgust. Misinterpreting her silence, he continued with a threat. "Of course, if you would rather not take the money, I can always Obliviate you, but I figured you would prefer the simpler method." That didn't add up.

"Why do you care?"

"Huh?"

"Why do you care what I prefer? Why don't you just Obliviate me? Why bother to try and bribe me?" She had him there, and she could tell by his narrowing eyes that he knew it.

"This could be a very lucrative opportunity for you, Weas—"

"Answer my question." He was silent for a few moments, and finally responded,

"Because I'm a nice guy. Will you take my offer? This bag is filled with galleons," he opened it to show Ginny more money than she had ever seen in her life. "At least seventy-five, probably more. And all you need to do to get it is keep your mouth shut. Surely that's not too hard, even for you." Did he really think she'd blab? Clearly he did. And why? Because he thought like a Slytherin; because his mind went first to bribery and treachery.

"You're disgusting, Malfoy. Pitiful. I don't want your bloody money." She walked off quickly before she wound up smacking him.


	3. Chapter 3

Well, here's chapter 3!! Yes, this update has arrived much, much quicker than the first one. And why? Because people reviewed!! See the power of a review? Thank you Sunflower, Aurienna, and Angel-eyez. This chappie is dedicated to you!

_What?_ Draco was having a hard time understanding what was going on. Ginny Weasley had just walked off, scorning him and his pretty generous offer. Did that mean she was going to tell someone? Or—even worse—that she already had? He raced after her.

"Stop!" he grabbed her arm again. "What do you mean? Ha-have you already told someone?" Great. Now he was stuttering. She gave him a look worthy of his father.

"No. I have no interest in telling anyone about your pathetic troubles, Malfoy. I don't care about whatever it is that upset you, nor does anyone else I know."

"Is that supposed to hurt, Weasley? I'm afraid you'll have to do a little better than that."

"Ugh!" she cried, looking ready to strangle him. "Don't you get it? I don't care how you feel! I'm not trying to upset you! Can't you stop thinking like a Slytherin for one blasted second?" He watched her take a breath to control herself. "Maybe that's it. I'll speak in terms you can easily understand: I am not going to tell anyone what happened. I do not want your money because I don't want anything that comes from you, Malfoy, and anyway, I don't need the inducement to keep quiet. The whole thing is rather embarrassing for me. Get it? So keep your money, and don't bother me again, and don't go through the effort to learn an Obliviate spell since I'm guessing you don't know how to do one. Alright?" Draco felt himself nod, and she walked off. He was left feeling rather stupid, and, he had to admit, hurt. She certainly had taken him up on his challenge.

But now was not the time to sort out his vulnerability to a Gryffindor. Reasonably confident that the girl would keep her mouth shut, he headed back to the dormitory to put his money away.

"Oi, Draco!" Blaise caught his attention in the common room. "So, what do you say, are we on for tomorrow?" With all that had happened, Draco could not, for the life of him, recall what Blaise was talking about. He gave him a blank look. "The forest, remember?" Blaise muttered.

"Oh! Oh, right. Sure. Maybe."

"What? I thought you were positive about it!"

"Yeah, right," Draco agreed without really hearing. In truth he didn't have an extra brain cell to spare on Blaise. He had much more important things to worry about; like what he was going to say to his father the next time he saw him or wrote. Blaise seemed to get the hint, and backed off.

Draco managed to win his Quidditch game the next day, thankfully; he wouldn't have been able to handle the anger and disappointment of his house if he had missed the Snitch in their first match. But when it was all done with he wouldn't have been able to report the final score if anyone had asked him. On the way back to his dorm he sent the little Weasley a threatening glare, for good measure, she didn't seem to notice.

"Great catch, Draco! So are we going tonight?" Blaise pounced on him the instant he entered the common room. Draco suppressed a groan.

"Why is this so important to you, Zabini? I have to say it's making me a bit suspicious."

"Because I need to share it with someone! And besides, I told you, you know what it told me to do." Draco nodded. It was a reasonable enough answer, but he couldn't bring himself to agree.

"Look, not tonight, alright, Blaise? Can we make it another night?" _I'm in enough trouble as it is,_ he thought to himself. Of course he wanted to see his future, but sneaking out of the castle seemed too dangerous to him, now that he might also get in trouble for having a family killed. His father could say that, as easy as pie—_my son had me do it because he hated the family_—and who would defend him? People like Pansy could testify that he hated them almost as much as he hated Potty and the Weasels, and that he was totally capable of having them killed. Whether that was true or not, he wasn't sure, but everyone who knew him probably thought it was.

He had too much to think about. He pushed off the excursion with Blaise, until tomorrow, but the following day he wasn't ready, either. He had seen little Weasley in the hallway and she hadn't looked frightened of him at all; should he do something about that? What if she had gotten protection from Dumbledore, or even Potter? He pushed it off another night, and then another, until Blaise stopped asking.

"Excellent!" Millicent Bulstrode called from down the table. A grey owl had just dropped a large packet of sweets in front of her, which she proceeded to tear open and stuff down for breakfast. Draco sneered but said nothing. He saw out of the corner of his eye a brown and white eagle owl making its way towards him. Sweets, perhaps from his mother? But when it landed, it had only a letter attached to its claw. Draco's heart began beating rather quickly, and he took several deep breaths to calm his shaky hand before reaching out to untie the letter. The owl took off immediately.

He couldn't read it there, so he shrunk it surreptitiously beneath the table and stuffed it into another pocket of his robe. After waiting a decent interval he rose calmly from his seat and made his way out of the hall. But Crabbe and Goyle caught up to him there, and insisted on regaling him with new (and bad) jokes they had come up with, and then the entire school poured out of the Great Hall to go to class, and he was swept up in the crowd. He couldn't get a moment alone over break or at lunch, either, with the Slytherins constantly looking to him for entertainment.

It wasn't until after dinner, back in his dormitory, alone, sitting on his bed with the curtains drawn, that he snatched up the letter and restored its size. He fearfully read the contents:

_Draco, I trust you have heard the news of the visit we made during our business excursion. It was quite enjoyable and I made sure to pass along our sentiments in your name. Your uncle was most pleased to hear that you had suggested the entertainment, and now looks forward to meeting you even more. He considers this idea of yours to be the first step in the right direction to a happy future for you. I am most proud of your ingenuity, and I hope this only strengthens your resolve to continue working for us. _

_So make sure you keep up your studies, Draco, as they will be most helpful in securing a good career, and for coming up with more ideas. Your uncle and I plan on looking to you again in the near future for more suggestions. Be ready._

_I trust you will take good care of this letter, as a souvenir of my trip._

_Father _

He felt that nauseous feeling in his stomach and throat, again, and had to get out of the dormitory. First he burned the letter, of course, as his father directed. Because otherwise it might be used as evidence—or a "souvenir"—of what they had done. Draco knew he was as involved in this as his father, it was inevitable, now. And not only that, but the Dark Lord knew, and was _pleased_. There was no way out of this situation. He was going to become a Death Eater in December.

He slowly, painfully made his way out of the dormitory and into the common room. He tried his best to put on a normal face, but was sure he was failing. He didn't even know where he was going, until he bumped right into Blaise Zabini.

"Draco, what's the matter?" he asked in a low voice, trying not to let anyone overhear. Draco shook his head, not knowing what to say.

"Let's go," was what came out, "let's go tonight." Blaise nodded hurriedly.

"Alright, alright, but keep quiet. At midnight, then, yeah?" Draco nodded miserably and made his way back into the dormitory. It didn't matter how much trouble he got into, now. He was as far in as it was possible to get.

Ginny sat on the edge of her bed, singing "_Mo Ghile Mear",_ brushing her hair and feeling guiltily complacent. She had felt wretched a couple of days back because of the death of the Chittocks and her encounters with Malfoy, but she couldn't feel bad for long about problems that were not her own. So far her past presentiment had proved to be nothing at all; no serious trouble changed her life or shattered her fairly peaceful world. Though she knew she was ready to be called to fight Voldemort whenever necessary, for now she enjoyed her time as a simple student. And just this instant she wouldn't even think about the question she had to ask her brother.

'Sé mo laoch, mo Ghile Mear  
'Sé mo Chaesar, Ghile Mear.  
Suan na sian nm bhfuaireas fiin  
O chuaigh in gciin mo Ghile Mear.

She sang to herself, and hummed, and was altogether in a very pleasant mood. A little later on she made her way out of the dormitory and to the Astronomy Tower for her midnight class. She carried her telescope with her and was on the whole thrilled to be out of the Gryffindor tower at night. Only rarely were they allowed to do this as part of Astronomy class. She felt a terrific thrill run through her veins; Ginny loved the nighttime, and it was the one thing she hated most about Hogwarts—being forced to stay indoors every night. But this was her chance to see the beautiful nighttime sky, filled with stars and the moon, and to breathe the clean nighttime air. She shivered in pleasurable anticipation and hurried onward. She was twenty minutes early, which was about as early as she thought she could get away with being. She was the first on out on the tower. Not even Professor Sinistra was there.

So she permitted herself the pleasure of lying on the ground and staring up at the sky above. She stowed her telescope in its holder at the best spot on the tower, sat down on the floor, and lay back. The sky above was filled with millions of stars, like grains of sand, as she had heard somewhere. A gentle breeze tickled her nose and played with her hair. She stared for a good ten minutes, then got up and sat on the wall. As soon as Sinistra arrived she would be scolded, but for the moment, it didn't matter. She gazed out on the darkened grounds, out at the beautiful blackness of the dark forest, and breathed deeply. This, indeed, was heaven.

Down on the grounds she could see Hagrid's hut; the windows were glowing with firelight or lantern-light from inside, and smoke was rising from the chimney. But the smoke wasn't the only thing moving on the grounds. Ten meters past Hagrid's hut someone was moving, in the direction of the Forbidden Forest—no, it was two people, she was sure of it. And they were running! Ginny rushed to her telescope and aimed it down, but the grounds were so dark she couldn't much clearer. The person in front she could not see at all, but the person who came second seemed to have bright hair...blonde hair, she thought—

"Good evening, Miss Weasley." Ginny jumped in fright and whirled around to see Professor Sinistra, in deep purple robes, standing on the tower behind her.

"Oh, h-hello, Professor."

"Were you looking at something on the grounds?" Ginny was spared an answer by the arrival of the rest of the Gryffindors. Relieved, Ginny went over to talk to Colin as Sinistra moved away.

The class was pleasant, as usual, as they traced the course of the stars through the autumn sky. It ended far too quickly, and since Sinistra was the first one to leave, Ginny dawdled after class while everyone filed out without fear of being caught alone with her again. She slowly packed up her telescope, urging Colin and the others to go on without her, and backed up to the door after a couple of minutes of enjoying the air alone, again. She knew she could wait no longer, though, and turned around to hurry back to Gryffindor.

As she ran across the Entrance chamber, however, she bumped right into someone. Looking up, she saw Draco Malfoy. Had he been following her? Was he going to say anything?

"Watch where you're going, Malfoy," she said rudely, getting in the first word before he could. But he said nothing in response, and only looked at her with surprise and some other unidentifiable emotion on his face. The fact that his face portrayed any emotion at all was odd enough in itself, and Ginny took a small step back. He was looking at her as if he had never seen her before. He also seemed rather upset. Did he want her to comfort him again, was that it? Well, it wasn't happening, not after the way he had thanked her the first time. "Would you care to move out of my way?"

"Oh! Oh, yeah..." he said weakly, and stepped aside. As she walked past him she could feel his eyes following her until she turned the corner of the long hallway. Only then could she breathe properly—whathad that been about? She felt distinctly unnerved, and quickened her pace back to the common room.

A/N again—So what's going on with ol' Drakie? And will we finally get to see the clearing? Tune in next time! I should warn anyone who's still reading this that the next update may not come as quickly as this one; I need to slow my pace because though I have the next few chapters written, I haven't finished the fic. Please please review, it makes such a difference (even if it's only to say—'hi, I'm reading this fic.').


	4. Chapter 4

Well, hello there! It's been ridiculously long since I updated this, considering I've had the next few chapters written for awhile...sorry!! I'm simultaneously working on about a billion other fics, as well as attempting to do some homework, so...that's my excuse, and I'm sticking to it.

Here's a nice, long update to make up for my slacking off.

Ginny Weasley walked off very fast, and Draco was left feeling quite alone. She had looked at him as if he were crazy; quite frankly, he didn't care. At the moment, he very well may have been. All he knew was that she could help him or hurt him, significantly, one way or the other. It had been terrifying when he first realized it, but upon looking more closely at her brown eyes, the thought grew a little more pleasant. She wasn't bad-looking, at that. But what if she was the one to hurt him? It was too much to think about, and he couldn't figure it out himself. He headed swiftly back to his common room.

Blaise had gone on ahead, leaving him alone as he had asked. Upon leaving the clearing Draco hadn't felt capable of talking to anyone. That was partially why he had been so shocked upon bumping into the Weasley girl...but only partially. There was a much bigger reason...he thought back to when he and Blaise had first reached the clearing in the forest.

_"It's right in there," Blaise urged, looking highly excited. "I can't go any further, you have to go in alone." Draco hesitated at that._

_"You're my friend, right, Blaise?"_

_"Of course! Quit worrying and get your arse in there. I'm telling you, you won't be sorry." So Draco, in his hopeless mood of helplessness, obeyed his friend, pushed his way through a few bushes and leafy branches, and found himself in a small clearing. It was darker there than it had been anywhere else, and he began to regret this move. Especially when the clearing began to grow a little lighter, and he started feeling faint. _

_"Shit," he muttered, cursing Blaise with all his heart. Then again, if he died here, he would never have to face his father and the Dark Lord. Maybe death was a blessing in disguise._

_But death did not come. He did not pass out at all, despite his dizziness. The clearing grew brighter and brighter, and then, suddenly, just as Blaise had promised, he saw his future self. He looked a lot like his father. Draco took a few steps forward and reached out his hand, but got no closer to the apparition. Clearly he was just here to watch. So watch he did._

_He saw himself standing next to the Dark Lord, who was smiling at him. He saw himself bribing a man in Ministry clothing and patting him on the back, looking satisfied. He saw servants running to do his bidding. He saw himself frightening Muggles with explosions from his wand. He saw himself in Death Eater robes, looking powerful and smug. He controlled Dementors. He used Unforgivables without repercussions. He was untouchable, and the Dark Lord was proud of him. This was his future._

_No voice spoke, but Draco gained an understanding of what he saw as if someone were explaining it to him. This was the path he had chosen for himself. He was to be one of the Dark Lord's greatest and most feared supporters. He would be the Dark Lord's favorite, besting all of his friends. The force explaining this inside of him felt satisfied, and pleased to be telling him this. He understood it was the voice of the clearing. But Draco was not pleased. He backed away from the vision in horror, ready to cry out in misery. This was what awaited him? A life just like his father's? One with no happiness but that which came from destroying others? One in which he was always second best to the Dark Lord? It was horrible, horrible, and Draco struggled not to cry. _

_The force, or the voice, or whatever it was that was in his head now, grew confused and let the vision dim. It was surprised that Draco was not happy to see this. It had never made anyone unhappy before. Many had come, Draco comprehended, and they had all walked away delighted and encouraged upon seeing their future. But Draco shook his head._

_"No," he said aloud, "I don't want it. Is there any way to avoid it?" The voice left his mind, then, and showed him another vision. Was this an answer to his question? This one showed him a beautiful, redheaded young woman who was brushing her hair and singing soundlessly. He saw his future self—younger than in the first vision, but older than he was now—walk up behind her and place his hands on her shoulder. She looked up at him and smiled in a way that no one had ever smiled at Draco before. He leaned down and brushed a kiss on her temple, and her eyes fluttered closed in happiness. Then, with a thrill of shock, fear and excitement, Draco realized who the woman was. _

_"I don't understand!" he cried desperately as the vision faded, leaving him longing for it to return. "Must I avoid her, or is she the way to avoid the other future?" The voice of the clearing filled him again, but the only response he got was the feeling that he already knew the answer. Then he was propelled out of the clearing, and the voice left him forever. He could not get back in. "Please!" He pleaded. "I _don't _know! Tell me!" There was no response. The clearing could not hear him. _

_He felt a hand on his shoulder and whirled around in terror. But it was only Blaise. _

_"How much did you hear?" Draco demanded immediately._

_"Only your begging, just now. What did you see? What don't you know?" _

_"Get away from me," Draco moaned, turning away and falling against a nearby tree trunk. "Leave me, please." He got no response, but a moment later heard Blaise wading through the brush. Draco heaved a sigh of relief. What now? What did it mean? He knew who the girl had been. Ginny Weasley. _

It was only understandable that he had found himself at such a loss when he encountered her a few minutes later. Standing in front of him had been the key to his future, only he didn't know whether to go to her or avoid her like the plague. After seeing her he knew what he was inclined to do—go to her—but was that simply because she was an attractive girl? She was a Gryffindor, after all. But did that mean she was trustworthy, or dangerous to a Slytherin like him? He _didn't_ know, damn it all, and why hadn't the clearing just told him? It seemed like a friendly entity. Why had it left him so confused?

He knew one thing. Two things, really. The first was that he had to avoid living the life of the first vision. He would not become his father; he refused. That life was not for him, even though it could be, even though he was already heading down that path. He was ready to fight now, all right, as hard as he could. The second thing he knew was that if Ginny Weasley ever did look at him the way she had in the vision, he wasn't sure he would be able to give that feeling up, even if it meant his own destruction.

For now he couldn't think about that. Before he got carried away he needed to come up with a plan of action. He woke up early the following morning, a Saturday, and snuck out of the dormitory to the third floor corridor before the rest of his house had woken. He shut and locked the door and sat down right behind the trapdoor, leaned against the wall, and thought.

The way to avoid his father and the Dark Lord seemed easy and impossible at the same time. It was easy in that it was clear what he would have to do: never go home again. Of course, it was impossible in that...where would he go? How would he live? With no money, no home, no family? He'd be worse off than Potter, because no one would be willing to take him in. And surely his father would come after him, and what would the Dark Lord do, when denied a Death Eater? What if he already had plans for Draco? Would Dumbledore take him in? How could he really go to Dumbledore, anyway, when he hated him and had scorned him for years?

None of that really mattered, for now. For now, what everything boiled down to was his relationship, or lack thereof, with Ginny Weasley. Somehow that would either solve all of those problems or throw him headlong into them. So what should he do? What did he _know_? What would the clearing have seen inside his mind that made it think he already knew whether or not he could trust Weasley?

There was the fact that she had told no one about their encounter, as far as he could tell. Of course, she might have told Longbottom, whom she was always with, but she had promised she would tell no one. He was inclined to believe her—ah, but why? If he could reason that out, maybe he would know for sure.

Because she was a Gryffindor, for one, but that wasn't all. He wouldn't trust someone like Finnigan or Patil with a secret like that. it be...because she was a Weasley? It fit, almost. The Weasleys were everything his father was not, and they represented everything the Dark Lord hated: they were Muggle-loving, poor, and emotional. That was a good sign, wasn't it? But of course, that meant that Draco himself must be everything that Weasleys hated: Muggle and Mudblood-hating, rich, and highly controlled. Would she turn on him because of that?

He would have to figure her out. Could he ever get her on his side? Might he convince her to turn against her family, and be loyal only to him, instead? The vision he had seen of her surely showed someone dedicated to him. Could he really, someday, get her to look at him like that? It seemed impossible, but of course, it wasn't. He had seen it. He would have to work for it, lure her in somehow...but he must tread carefully. He must never forget that she was a Weasley, and not trust her until he was sure he had control over her.

But first, again, he had to figure her out. Observe her, and work out how to get close to her. He prepared himself for a task of manipulation worthy of his father.

So it seemed comforting Draco Malfoy had been a very bad idea indeed. So far he had glared at her, bribed her, and scared her in response. Hopefully he was finished and would go back to being practically ignorant of her existence, as he had before. She sighed as she ate her dinner; no good deed goes unpunished, it seemed. Not that she had set out to be nice to him. It had been instinctive. Apparently that didn't make any sort of difference to the twisted Providence who ran the universe.

"Are you going to the DADA demonstration this evening, Neville?"

"Of course!"

"It'll be a really educational opportunity, to see Aurors at work. Much more realistic than what we do in class," Hermione put in excitedly, not noticing Harry's scowl behind her. Ginny shot him a small, sympathetic smile. The last time they had seen Aurors at work, Sirius had died. He shrugged but gave her a grateful look.

They all met up in the common room and headed out to the Great Hall again that evening, excited to see the Aurors. Tonks, Kingsley, and Dawlish were all there, along with a few other Aurors Ginny didn't know. She waved excitedly to Tonks, who surreptitiously waved back.

"Anyone been rubbing any lamps, lately?" someone said behind her, and she giggled. Kingsley did rather resemble the traditional genie, with his bald head and earring. She turned to look behind her to smile at whoever had said that, and jumped. It was Malfoy. She immediately frowned and moved forward, away from him. He was soon forgotten as the Aurors completed their presentation. Afterwards the students were taught some curses, and practiced on one another. Ginny paired up with Neville.

"What in Merlin's name is Malfoy doing here?" Neville whispered to her.

"How should I know?"

"I just mean...a Slytherin in an extra DADA class? It doesn't click." Ginny nodded. Neville was absolutely right, of course. She turned to observe her brother, then, who was paired off with Harry and goofing off. They were sending tickling hexes at each other. Ginny laughed, but that's not why she was watching. She had to speak to her brother, and, glancing next at Hermione, thought she knew a way to get what she wanted.

After the meeting she pulled Ron aside from the tide of students and whispered to him, "I have to talk to you. Now."

"Um, okay. See you in a few," he called to Harry and Hermione, who nodded and went on without him. Ginny led him to a deserted hallway and turned to him as soon as she was sure they were alone.

"Look, I need to know something that I know you know. So, first off, you trust me, don't you Ron?"

"What's this about, Gin?"

"I need to know what you know about Malfoy and the Chittocks." There. She had done it. He froze up and she could tell he was about to deny her flat out. "Ron, if you tell me, I'll tell you something I know you want to know." He still didn't look inclined to open up, so she went on, "It's about Hermione." _That_ got him. Her poor brother couldn't help but look interested, as much as he was trying to hide it from her. He did not want to tell her what he knew, but to get information about Hermione...

"But Ginny, it's not good for you to know these things. It's dangerous to know."

"Don't try to protect me, Ron, you should know better by now. I took care of myself in the Department of Mysteries, didn't I?"

"Yeah, but..."

"Look, Ron, it's not like I'm going to tell a single soul about this. I just need to know."

"Why do you need to know so badly?"

"I just do."

"Not good enough," he shook his head.

"Ugh! Because I might know something that has to do with it all."

"What? What do you know? You have to tell me, Ginny."

"_No._ If it doesn't have anything to do with the murder, then it would be a serious breach of morals for me to tell, alright? If it turns out I do know something, then of course I'll tell you or Dumbledore." He nodded.

"That sounds alright. And...and you'll tell me something about...Hermione?" Ginny had to smirk as his ears turned telltale red.

"Yup. And it's _good_." He took a deep breath, and looked around, then back at her.

"Alright. Here's what we know about Malfoy—we have witnesses, or, I mean, the Order has witnesses, who saw Lucius Malfoy leaving the Chittocks' house. Like, within ten minutes of when we think they were killed. So Dumbledore is pretty sure he's the one who did it."

"Do you know anything about _Draco_ Malfoy?" He gave her an odd look, then.

"No. Why? Do you think he had anything to do with this? Do you know something?"

"No, Ron, relax. I was just curious. Now I'll tell you the thing about Hermione." He was sufficiently distracted. "Wait—if you tell me something else you know about the Chittock case, I'll tell you two things."

"Erm...er...I don' t think I know anything else. Erm..oh! How about this? The Chittocks ran in the same social circle as the Malfoys, as far as we could tell. The two families knew each other fairly well." Pushing aside her disgust at the thought that Lucius Malfoy had killed a family friend, Ginny nodded, satisfied.

"Thank you, Ron. Is there anything else?"

"That's all we know."

"Thanks. Since you were so nice about it, I'll tell you three things." She proceeded to enlighten him to the facts that Hermione slept in a short, white lace nightgown, and that she loved green toad-lilies.

"That's all?" Ron said, pretending not to care, but Ginny could see his eyes glazing over. Besides, he hadn't even noticed she had only told him two things.

"You forgot the third item, Ron."

"Oh! Yeah! What is it?"

"She mentioned something to me the other day about wanting to go into Hogsmeade next weekend with you alone. I can't really remember why. See you, then," she said with a grin, and walked off, leaving him standing dazedly still. So she had lied about the Hogsmeade thing. Hopefully, for Ron and Hermione's sakes, it wouldn't end up mattering.

But Ginny was left to think about things that certainly did matter. What did she really know, now? That Lucius Malfoy had probably killed the Chittocks, that Draco had known the family, and that he had been feeling quite guilty over something the morning the news came out...but he was in school when it happened, and Draco didn't seem the type to feel guilt over what his father had done. It didn't add up. So maybe she knew nothing; that would be a relief. But Draco _had_ tried to bribe her, with quite a lot of money. He had threatened to Obliviate her—that must mean something. She sighed and went back to the dorm.

Ginny had an itch to fly. It was late in the afternoon and she would only have a couple of hours, if she was willing to miss dinner, but she had a Quidditch itch. Grabbing Bill's old broom from her trunk, she tied a scarf around her neck and scurried out of the dormitory. Thankfully the pitch was abandoned, and, without slowing down, she hopped onto her broom and soared into the air. _Ahh..._there was the release, the comfort offered by the wind in her hair, on her face. She looped around the field as the sun went down. But before she could head down to grab a Quaffle to chase, she realized someone was watching her—there, by the entrance to the stands. She didn't hesitate, but swung her broom around smoothly and headed straight at the person. Only once she had got within range to see the silver-blonde hair did she pause; it was Malfoy, and what did he want _now?_

A/N—What, indeed?? Please review, and I'll tell you! Every time you review a muse gets its wings!


	5. Chapter 5

A/N- Okee, no one's actually reading this, but I figure in the off-chance that someone, someday stumbles upon it and reads it, I might as well keep posting. So here's the next chapter! Oh, and I don't remember if I've been doing disclaimers consistently or not, but the usual one applies here.

He had followed her out, having seen her walk past the Great Hall and outside, broom in hand. Draco had summoned his broom and gone out, planning to join her, hoping that meeting her in a different atmosphere, outside of Hogwarts castle, might dispose her to be friendlier. But when he reached the pitch she was already in the air, and upon seeing her flying gracefully, red in the red autumn sunset, he decided a logical course of action was to wait until she landed. So he watched. Only a few minutes had passed, however, before she ruined it, spotting him and flying towards him. He stood tall, plastering his trademark sneer across his face. By the time she reached him, hovering a meter away, he was relaxed and ready to take whatever she threw at him.

"What do you think you're doing, Malfoy? This isn't a private show."

"Of course not. If it were, Potter would be standing here watching, wouldn't he? Who else would you perform for?" Instead of blushing a deep red, as she should have, Ginny rolled her eyes.

"I'm not performing, period. Which is why you need to leave."

"I'm not going anywhere, Weasley. I came here to fly."

"You came here to bother me!"

"Don't flatter yourself," he snarled, not quite sure why, and went off a short distance to mount his broom. She wasn't going to spoil _his_ fly…then he realized he really had come out just to bother her, and ignoring her would defeat his purpose. Gritting his teeth in frustration, he turned back to her, determined to be friendly. Surely a compliment would soften her up. "You're not as bad a flyer as your brother," he called loudly. Inexplicably, she just narrowed her eyes and shot back into the air. Didn't girls like to hear that they were good at guys' things? Maybe she just didn't want to hear compliments from _him_. Draco couldn't help scowling. Who did she think she was, anyway? Stupid Weasley.

Forget it, then, he told himself. He shouldn't have tried to talk to her in the first place. He was just supposed to _watch_. He flew around for a few minutes to avoid looking like he really had just come out to bother her, and then landed and went back inside.

Back in the common room he sat down alone to do some homework, but he was shortly interrupted. Blaise plopped down at the same table, leaned across it with a rather morbidly curious look on his face, and whispered, "what'd you see?"

"Like I would tell _you._"

"You were talking to the clearing! How? Did you see someone in there?"

"Must I repeat myself? It gets so tedious."

"What did you want it to tell you?"

"Look, Blaise," he hissed, finally fed up, "you haven't told me anything about what you saw, so what gives you the idea that I'll tell you what I saw?"

"I brought you there! You wouldn't have even known of it if I hadn't—"

"Shut up! This isn't the place to have this discussion." Draco knew how poor the Slytherin common room was for having private conversations. Blaise knew, too.

"Then let's go somewhere we can have one." Draco turned away again and went back to his homework.

"I'm working, if you haven't noticed. Some other time."

"You'll tell me some other time?"

"_No_. Now leave me in peace."

"This isn't over, Malfoy. I'll find out." Now Draco looked up, and eyed him sharply.

"Oh? And how do you intend on doing that?" Blaise made no response, but looked steadily back at Draco for a moment, then stood up and walked away. Hating the thought, Draco had to admit to himself that he was a bit worried. Why did Blaise care so much? Why, if he had only brought him to the clearing as a friend, was he so desperate to find out what Draco had seen? It didn't add up; but Draco knew now that he trusted Blaise less than ever. And he would not let him find out about his future.

It was getting a bit ridiculous. She had caught him watching her in the Great Hall, lurking in the hallways where she had classes, and of course there was that one confrontation on the Quidditch pitch a couple of days back. If Draco Malfoy thought he could intimidate her like this, well, he had better think again.

She hadn't said a word to anybody about what was going on, and so far no one had noticed. But it was time to seek outside assistance. Her best friend, Neville, was no good. He took things like this too seriously and didn't know well enough how to have fun. What she _really_ needed was Fred and George, but of course that was impossible. What was her next best bet?

The thought came to her as she sat in the Great Hall, withstanding Malfoy's infuriating glances again and chatting half-heartedly with Neville. A slow smile spread across her face as the name of the perfect accomplice flitted across her mind.

"Gin? What's so funny?" Startled, she looked at Neville's self-conscious face.

"Oh, no, not about you, Neville. Sorry, I wasn't really listening. My mind was elsewhere. Look, I'm so sorry, but I've got to go." Ginny jumped up from the table and hurried to the library, where she knew Luna Lovegood would be, lounging at some table and reading her dad's Quibbler upside down.

She was mostly right. When she finally located Luna, it was in the back corner under a window, where she was lying with her back on the floor and her legs propped up on the windowsill, her dirty blonde hair splayed in a sea about her head. A Quibbler was indeed in her hands, but it was right-side up. Ginny walked over and sat herself down next to Luna's head. The Ravenclaw turned her great eyes slowly towards Ginny, and registered her without any surprise.

"Hello, Gryffindor." Ginny laughed.

"Well, hello Ravenclaw. Are we no longer on a first-name basis?"

"Aren't you proud of being in Gryffindor?"

"Of course I am. But I still prefer being called by my name."

"Alright then, Ginevra Weasley. Or do you have a middle name?" Ginny refrained from rolling her eyes. As much as the girl amused her, dealing with Luna was never simple.

"I do, but call me Ginny, for heaven's sake, Luna."

"What's your middle name?"

"Molly, but—"

"Ginevra Molly Weasley. A family name." Ginny snorted.

"It's a terrible name, is what it is. But—"

"But I will call you Ginny, as I always have. Do you know my full name?"

"No."

"It's Luna Morrigna Bhakti Lovegood."

"But I will call you Luna. Now _listen_, for pete's sake. I need your help."

"You do?" At this, Luna placed down her Quibbler and turned her head towards Ginny.

"Yeah, but why are you sitting like that?" she asked in annoyance.

"Does it bother you? I'm feeding my brain, letting the blood run up to my head instead of down, as it normally does."

"Right. Because that's normal." Ginny immediately regretted saying this. She knew she would be in for a lecture.

"What is normalcy? Why should I strive to uphold it? Who decided—"

"I know, Luna, I know. I shouldn't have said anything. But listen, I said I needed your help—"

"Oh yes, that's right. Go on, then."

"Are you up for a few gags? To play a few tricks on someone?"

"Always," she responded gravely. "What person?"

"Draco Malfoy."

"Oh." She paused. "I don't like _mean_ tricks. I'd rather not." And she turned back to her Quibbler. Ginny thought of all the mean tricks that had been played on Luna by the Ravenclaws, and she winced inwardly.

"What if I didn't want to play mean tricks, either? I want to embarrass him, but—"

"I told you, no."

"Fine! Fine. How about silly little tricks that will amuse everyone and won't really embarrass the victim? What if we played only tricks that I would be willing to play on Ron, or Neville or someone I like?" The Quibbler was returned to Luna's chest.

"That sounds alright. What do you have in mind?" Ginny proceeded to explain to Luna how Malfoy was following her around, and how she wanted to get back at him for it somehow. She did not mention the initial encounter with him, or the subsequent "bribe" rendezvous, either. They hammered out a plan for what was in Ginny's mind Prank Number One.

They readied themselves that evening, after dinner when Ginny knew Malfoy would follow her, as he always did. As a safety precaution, she made sure to look extra-furtive and sneaky, to pique his curiosity. She whispered in Neville's ear, rose slowly, glanced around nervously, then walked purposefully out of the Great Hall. Just outside the doors, she turned towards Luna and jerked her head in the direction of the Entrance Hall. Through all of this she had felt Malfoy's eyes on her, and knew he would trail them shortly.

"Brilliant! C'mon, let's go. We need to get you out there, and fast." They raced outside the main doors and in the direction of a large, walled garden beyond Hagrid's hut. Right next to the entrance they had piled a huge stack of fallen leaves, and now they buried Luna in it. Ginny couldn't stop giggling. "Alright, Luna, you stay there and don't move until he—there he is, I see him," she quickly looked away, and entered the garden. "I'm going now, Luna. Keep watch."

"I'm ready." Ginny slowly made her way across the garden in the dark evening light, feeling a bit creeped out by the nearby forest. The grounds were completely quiet, save for the occasional hoot or howl that emanated from deep in the woods, and Ginny wished she could be with Luna. But for now she had to concentrate on slowly, but surely moving to the far end of the garden. Then, suddenly, from behind her, came an ear-piercing high-pitched scream.

Ginny whirled around fast enough to catch Draco Malfoy about two feet in the air, a pale hand sliding down his foot as he jumped. She burst into laughter and ran forward. Luna then let go of his ankles and burst out of her pile of leaves. Malfoy saw that he had been duped.

"You think you're funny, don't you?" he demanded, whipping out his wand. Ginny helped Luna stand up but could not stop laughing. "Shut up, Weasel!" He glanced around to make sure no one was near. Luna was now wandering dazedly back to the castle, her job completed. Ginny, still laughing, drew her own wand.

"Oh-h, your face!" she cried, gasping for breath. "What I'd give for a camera!"

"Had a look at your own face lately, you ugly bint? You might be more careful about what—stop laughing!" he demanded finally, clearly mad at his inability to humble her. Ginny rolled her eyes as her laughter subsided.

"Malfoy, get a life." And with that, she walked off, giggling every few steps at the memory of his scream.

She found Luna in the library in her usual spot and congratulated her on a job well done.

"Of course," was Luna's response, though Ginny wasn't really sure what she was agreeing with.

"It was _brilliant_. And it wasn't mean, was it?"

"I wouldn't have done it if it were."

"Good. Let's think up another one, then."

"You want to prank him again? Why?"

"Because it's so easy! And so much fun! C'mon, are you up for another one? Another good-spirited one. Let's…let's turn him blue or something. Hah! How about it?"

"Yes. But not now. I have to do homework now."

"Oh. Ok, then." Somehow the thought of Luna doing homework seemed incongruous, but Ginny supposed it was necessary. "I'm going to write a letter to my brothers, then." Snatching some parchment and a quill from Luna's bag, Ginny plopped down next to her and composed a letter to Fred and George, informing them of this latest escapade and its perfect success. They would particularly appreciate her vivid description of Malfoy's cry as similar to Mum's reaction when she found their childhood slug collection.

Off she zipped to the Owlery and borrowed Pigwidgeon to send the letter, then found Neville in the common room and did her own homework. The next day she looked forward to nothing but another prank on Malfoy. She was surprised in the morning.

The alarm by her roommates bed was going off, and Ginny groaned, burying her head under a pillow. She was always the last to get up in her room, taking the least time to get ready. Now she tried desperately to fall back asleep as they all arose and moved around between the dorm room and the showers. Ginny tossed over onto her other side, and sneezed.

There was a feather in her face.

"What?" she muttered sleepily, opening her eyes fully. A long, grey feather lay next to her head, beneath her pillow. Ginny shot up in bed, her heart pounding, and picked up the feather. Then she spotted another one farther down in the bed. "No," she whispered. "It can't be." She remembered perfectly the last time she had found herself covered in feathers; Tom Riddle was possessing her and she had no memory of killing the roosters whose feathers then covered her. "It _can't_ be." Her roommates were still milling around, so grabbing her wand out from under her pillow, Ginny waved at the feathers and hissed "Evanesco." They disappeared instantly.

She immediately proceeded to convince herself that she had not seen them. By the time she joined Neville at breakfast, she actually believed it.

"Your birthday's coming up," Neville said by way of greeting.

"It is? No way! Why didn't anyone tell me?"

"Very funny. I—"

"No, really, Neville. I had no idea! What day is it?"

"Halloween," he said resignedly. Ginny laughed.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop. Now what were you going to say?"

"Do you want a party?"

"Do I want a party? Are you _mad_?"

"I take it that's a no."

"Then try taking it one more time, my friend. You'd better give me a party! What kind of friend are you, even having to ask? I'm a Weasley, Nev! We're party animals! Isn't that right, Ron?"

"What?" he asked, turning away from his conversation with Harry and Hermione. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Are Weasleys party animals, or what?" He grinned.

"We are. Well, except for Percy." They both scowled. Nothing had been resolved, as of yet, with their older brother. "And except for you, too. You're too young to be a party animal."

"Oh, stuff it," Ginny said, and turned back to Neville. "See? It's in my genes." Neville glanced curiously at her pants, and Ginny laughed, clapping him on the back. "Worry not, Nev. It'll all make sense someday. Now, about my party."

By the time class began Ginny had forgotten all about her morning scare. And in Herbology class, which she shared with the Ravenclaws, she sidled over to Luna and planned out their next prank. They caught Malfoy in a crowded hallway and charmed his hair from behind, turning it bright pink and setting it on end. The students erupted into riotous laughter, startling him as he looked around to see where it was coming from. He soon realized he was being pointed at, examined himself, and found nothing wrong. When he spotted Ginny holding onto a proud-looking Luna and nearly crying with laughter, he strode right over.

"Care to tell me what the hell is going on, Weasel?"

"Y-your…your…oh, I can't, you tell him, Luna!" The sight of his typical evil glare topped by a head of pink hair was too silly for words.

"Your hair is pink, Slytherin," Luna said simply. Draco reached up and pulled a few strands in front of his face, and his eyes widened in fury. Ginny laughed harder.

"You'll pay for this, Weasel!" he said in a low, menacing voice, then stormed off. Ginny kept laughing, but Luna slid out from under her.

"I think he was embarrassed by that one, Ginny. Don't ask me to prank him again."

"What—oh, Luna, c'mon. It's all in good fun." Luna shrugged and walked off. "Fine," Ginny muttered. "I'll do it without you."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N- Hey, I've got a few reviews! This is pretty cool! So here's another update, I know it's been awhile. I may continue to slow down in my updates, as I recently was inspired with another idea for a fic and have really been spewing that one out. But here's the next part, anyway! Cheers!

**_Chapter 6_**

Who the _hell_ did she think she was, and how many times was he going to find himself asking that question?

It was all getting a bit ridiculous. Twice she had bested him, and she had calmly brushed off his insults. He knew, now, that Weasley was the one who would lead him to his doom, and he had to avoid her…or neutralize her. Yes, that would be better, he'd get back at her, make her suffer, publicly, like he had; he would scare her so bad she would never think about crossing him again. And he wanted to do it _now._

He knew exactly where she'd be; she had Potions right now. It would be perfect—he'd humiliate her in front of her classmates and the fifth year Slytherins, and then Snape would come out and give her detention. Draco jumped up and raced out of the common room, where he had been sitting, through the dungeons and to the Potions classroom. Sure enough, there were the stinking Gryffindors, filing out of the room. She was one of the first, laughing gaily with one of her classmates. Malfoy stormed over, and the sea of Gryffindors split as he approached, which greatly pleased him. He stopped directly in front of Weasley and looked down threateningly on her.

She stood up tall and looked at him, narrowing her own eyes. So she wasn't scared yet, was she? She would be.

"Oh, look, it's the little Weasel and her friends. You lot, scram." Most of them did so, save for the two girls who had been chatting with the Weasel, and a couple of boys who hovered near the end of the hallway, watching. "See that, Weasel? You should take a lesson from your mates. They know to do just what I say, when I say it."

"Get off of it, Malfoy. Do you actually think you can order everyone around? Sorry, but the only one who orders me around is my mum." Her sycophantic little friend snickered. "And even she thinks twice before doing it."

"Shut your mouth, Weasel, I didn't come here to hear you jabber—"

"Why _did_ you come here?"

"To do this," and with that his wand was raised and he cast a Tarantallegra curse. The Slytherins who had hung around to see the show roared with approval.

"Finite incantatem!" one of Ginny's friends stopped the hex, and her spastic flailing ceased.

"Oh, very clever, Malfoy. How long did it take you to perfect that one? A curse that complex, I bet you needed Crabbe and Goyle's help, huh?"

"What would you know, Weasley? You and your Mudblood-loving disgrace of a pureblood family?" Before he could react, giant bogeys in the form of bats had been hurled at his face, and he tried desperately to push the disgusting creatures away from him. Now the Gryffindors laughed. He was growing steadily angrier. She would _pay_.

"Don't talk about my family, you son of a wife-beating Death Eater!" she spat.

"_What?!_ How dare you!" He had gotten rid of the bogeys, and now, unable to restrain himself, before he had any clue what his body was about to do, he had lunged forward and shoved her to the floor. She leapt back up and attacked him, and suddenly, all hell broke loose. The Slytherins jumped in to pull her off, the Gryffindor girls began hitting them, the Gryffindor boys at the end of the corridor raced forward to join the fray, having been watching for this very occurrence. Horrified with what he'd started, Draco tried to slip out, knowing any second Snape would arrive, but Gryffindor after stupid Gryffindor pulled him back into the fight with a punch or a pull or a kick or a shove. And then, the inevitable happened.

"What in Merlin's name is going on?" Professor Snape's smooth voice cut through the shouts and the sound of flesh being slapped. Before anyone could take a breath, another, much louder voice sounded.

"**What is this**?!" Draco almost groaned as he and all the students leapt apart from one another. Professor McGonagall had just turned the corner. Now everyone was in for it, Slytherins included. Both professors marched over and stood imperiously before the ragged, panting students. "Would someone care to explain," she said in a shakily furious voice, "just what you think you're doing? I have never seen…"

"Mr. Malfoy," Snape began in an oily voice, and Draco knew immediately that with McGonagall here, he would get no protection from that corner. "Seeing as you are a prefect, perhaps you would care to enlighten us?" For perhaps the first time in his life, he found he had nothing to say.

"Who started this?" McGonagall demanded. Every Slytherin in the group raised a finger and cried "She did!" while pointing to Weasley. At the exact same moment, all the Gryffindors, minus Weasley, did the same and called "He did!" while pointing at Draco. Then they fell into a pandemonium of voices as each person tried to shout over the others, offering evidence. Draco noticed that Weasley wasn't saying anything. Probably because she knew it was her fault.

"Silence!" both professors demanded, and the stupid fifth years shut up. "Every single one of you will get detention," McGonagall went on. "For three nights." No one was foolish enough to groan. "And since it is clear that you two are the instigators of this," she turned on Draco and the Weasel, "you will come with me. Severus, if you would kindly see that those students find their way to their next classes?"

"Of course. And house points, Minerva? I would suggest fifty points from each house."

"_I_ would suggest fifty points _each_, but if you insist…Mr. Malfoy and Miss Weasley will receive additional punishment. Honestly! Fighting like Muggles in the middle of the corridors! Follow me, you two."

Draco trailed directly behind McGonagall, leaving the Weasel in her proper place; last in line. All this trouble he was getting into thanks to _her_. How could he have ever thought she could help him? Stupid Weasleys were all the same; poor, Mudblood-loving and common. Attacking him like that! Leaping from the floor like some kind of animal! It was disgusting, but completely typical. And now _he_ was in trouble, when all he'd wanted to do was scare her into leaving him the hell alone. It wasn't fair. And she _would_ pay. Just because her ragged robes were now torn and she looked like what she was, a street tramp, didn't mean she had paid her dues. He would get her back.

McGonagall pushed open the door to her office and let it swing back at Draco without a second thought; he caught it just before it slammed into his face. He heard a snicker from behind him and, infuriated, swung the door violently behind him. He heard a loud slap of wood on palms as Weasley caught it, too. _Too bad_, he thought, and walked to McGonagall's desk.

"Sit," she demanded icily, and they did so. She sat, as well. "I don't know what was the cause of this fight, and quite frankly, I could not care less. I don't know when I have ever seen such a display of brutality in a group of students at this school. I am disgusted. Absolutely disgusted. I can't think of a punishment bad enough. I should probably appeal to Mr. Filch in such a matter; he'd come up with something." Out of the corner of his eye Draco saw Ginny fight to hold back a smile. How could she _laugh_ at a time like this? She had probably done it all on purpose. Fortunately, however, McGonagall noticed the smile, too. "Do you find something amusing, Miss Weasley?"

"No, ma'am."

"Because I would hate to think that you were not taking this seriously enough. I would _hate_ to think that you would walk out of this office, ready to use brute force again whenever you felt you had been insulted, or whatever the case was."

"No, ma'am." But clearly she was lying. Even if McGonagall didn't, Draco knew better. The Weasel wasn't scared enough yet.

Professor McGonagall proceeded to give them a lecture that lasted at least a quarter of an hour, Draco was sure, then gave them each a week's worth of detention and took thirty points from both houses. She also hinted that if any further misbehavior occurred, she would revoke Quidditch or prefect privileges. That message got through to Draco, certainly. Whatever he did next to the Weasel, it would have to be untraceable to him, and far from teachers' eyes.

When she finally dismissed them the Weasel swept out of the room without a glance at him, but Draco hurried after her. Shutting the door behind him, he turned to hiss a threat, but she had gone. Containing his anger, he convinced himself that it was better this way, anyway. Better that she not know what was coming for her. Draco ducked into the nearest bathroom and cleaned himself up with a few well-placed spells, then headed back to his common room, deciding to skive off his Care of Magical Creatures class.

And he planned out his revenge. It took only a few minutes to prepare, a wave of the wand at a sheet of parchment, and he was done. Now all he had to do was find the Weasel and plant it on her. He could wait until the following day, after detention. Right before dinner, when her humiliation would be public. And much worse than that caused by pink hair.

Ginny had been so caught up in anger at Malfoy for having gotten her detention that she forgot to be afraid when she went to sleep that night. In the morning, when she woke up, however, the fear swamped her again. Four grey feathers this time, and farther down the bed, a few tawny hairs. Ginny was baffled. What on earth could she have done? She vanished the evidence once again, calmed her own shaking, and made her way downstairs. For once she was the first one in her dormitory down, and in the common room she saw a sleeping Harry. He stirred when she entered, and filled with fear and anxiety, Ginny rushed towards him.

"Harry! Did you sleep here all night?"

"Wha-Ginny? Uh, yeah, I guess so." At the moment, she was too preoccupied to even wonder why he was there. All that mattered was he might have seen her slip out during the night; whether that would be a good or bad thing she wasn't yet sure.

"Tell me," she said, grasping his arm and thoroughly startling him as he used his other hand to put on his glasses. "Did you see me come down last night?" He gave her a very confused and slightly suspicious look.

"Ginny, I don't understand. I saw you working here before you went to bed—"

"No," she interrupted with a dismissive gesture. "I mean late, after everyone else had gone to sleep."

"Well, no, I didn't, Gin, but I'm not sure when I fell asleep." She sighed and released him.

"Do you think you would have woken up if I _had_ walked by?"

"What? Did you come down last night, or not? I don't get it."

"Just answer the question. Would you have?" He shrugged tiredly.

"Depends, I guess. How quiet can you be?"

"Very," she responded with a sinking heart, and began to walk away. He grabbed her back.

"Wait. What is this about?" She didn't want to tell him, but who knew what he might imagine if she didn't tell him something? He might very well imagine the truth.

"I'm afraid I've been sleepwalking again. My roommate saw me out of my bed, and I wanted to know how bad it's getting, if I left the dormitory." She gave a half-shrug and he looked mostly satisfied.

"Oh. Alright, then." And he let her go. Thankfully he wasn't suspicious yet; the events of Ginny's first year hadn't had the same effect on him as they had on her. If they had, he would be demanding that she go see Dumbledore. Ginny knew she should, she knew she should tell someone—look what had happened last time, when she had been too scared to share her troubles with anyone. But she couldn't, not yet; she wanted to put off having to deal with the possibility that she was going mad for as long as possible. She couldn't bear to think about it.

Unfortunately, it was the only thing she thought about all day during classes. The fear of what she might be doing unconsciously terrorized her mind…she had to tell somebody, she really ought to…but what would they do if it turned out she was being possessed again? Maybe they had let her get away with it once, but would they be less tolerant with a repeat offense? And besides, what could she have done to allow Tom…or whoever…to gain access to her mind? She couldn't think of a single thing…but then, the diary had seemed totally innocuous as well. Danger could come from anywhere.

Detention had rolled around before she made a decision. She reported to McGonagall's office and was surprised to see herself directed to the trophy rooms while Draco was sent to a corridor of empty classrooms; McGonagall had threatened them before with a joint punishment, so that they'd have to work together. The idea had seemed a joke at the time to Ginny, as she knew they'd be more likely to tear each other's throats out. Apparently the same thought had occurred to McGonagall, and she had changed her mind. Ginny sent her a silent thanks as she picked up and charmed the trophies clean.

Why, then, was Draco standing outside of the trophy room when she finished her work? Ginny rolled her eyes and prepared to brush by him, but he stopped her with two hands on her shoulder and back.

"And just where do you think you're going, Weasel?"

"Get off of me," she scowled, shrugging out of his grip. "Where I'm going is none of your business, ferret." He narrowed his eyes, then, but she turned around and marched away. She _wasn't _going to let him bother her.

Was she ever wrong.

"McGonagall wants to see you in her office. She sent me to tell you." Ginny rolled her eyes and stalked off to the office. When she got there, no one was around. She fumed. How _typical_ of Malfoy! But why had she fallen for it? Well, in any case, she consoled herself, it was a pretty pathetic trick. Encouraged, she made her way to the Great Hall for dinner.

She had only taken a few steps in when the laughter began. Seeing that it came mainly from the Slytherin table, she did her best not to freeze and kept on walking. That's when a galleon hit her on the head.

"Wha—" she cried, holding her hand to the back of her head in shock. Then knuts, sickles, and all manner of coins were being hurled at her from the Slytherin table. She whipped out her wand and turned to retaliate, but the coins were hitting her and she couldn't see where any of them were coming from.

"Enough!" McGonagall's voice roared from the head table, clearly heard over the laughter. A couple more coins landed near Ginny's feet, but all in all, the onslaught stopped. Before Ginny could process a thing Neville was at her side, dragging her out of the Great Hall and tearing something off of her back. The last thing she saw was Draco Malfoy's smirking face.


	7. Chapter 7

Hey! Well, in celebration of having gotten a review from Mynuet, and I guess of hitting the 12-mark in my reviews (whoohoo), and also because I realized that the ending of the last chapter was a bit confusion, here is a very fast update. Enjoy!

**_Chapter 7_**

Priceless. It had been the best prank of the year, so simple and more than worth the forty points and two nights' detention it had cost all of Slytherin house. McGonagall had been unable to pinpoint who had started throwing the coins and who had pinned the parchment on the Weasel's back, but she had glared pretty confidently at Draco. She was right on both accounts, of course.

He heaved a sigh of satisfaction as he recalled sticking the parchment on Weasley's back after her detention, the parchment that read in huge letters "The Weasley family needs your help! Please donate anything you can to help us put food on our table!" Then he had stalled her—also, all too easy—and raced to the Great Hall, where he had started the laughter upon her entrance, then banished a galleon that struck her perfectly on the head. None of it could be blamed on him, since all the Slytherins happily joined in. The prank could only have been improved in one way—if he had been able to see the look on her face when she read what was on the sign. But just imagining it was reward enough. Draco sighed again.

* * *

Dead. That's what he was. Draco Malfoy was in for it now. As if the prank hadn't been bad enough, now she had to deal with random Slytherins teasing her in the hallways (no one ever attempted it more than once), with Malfoy's smug looks, with the condescending pity of everyone in Hufflepuff and especially Ravenclaw, and Ron and Harry's constant demands, wanting to know who had pranked her.

"I'm taking care of it," Ginny had finally snapped at them. Harry immediately backed off, looking a bit intimidated, but Ron could not be satisfied. Nor could he shut up. That didn't slow Ginny down, however; neither did McGonagall's rather un-subtle suggestion that she not retaliate. Two days after the prank, the day before her birthday, Ginny made sure that not a single parchment of Malfoy's notes survived the dousing of ink she gave his book bag.

Thus began the great Weasley-Malfoy prank war. Only 'prank,' Ginny knew, wasn't quite the right word. A Terrorism war was really a much better term, as what they did to each other—and especially what she did to him, as she knew that her pranks were far superior—was far from harmless. She found carnivorous mice which attacked her in her knapsack, repeatedly avoided being tripped by Crabbe and Goyle, had her Charm textbook, which she had stupidly left in the library, shredded, was hexed so that she walked backwards for an hour before someone freed her, was doused in itch powder, and so on and so on. The most embarrassing prank of all, however, was one of the oldest in the book; Malfoy had permanently stuck a Galleon to the hallway floor and she spent a good few seconds trying to get it up—he caught her right as she realized it had to be a prank, and everyone standing nearby laughed.

But she retaliated. Malfoy had his cauldron melted, received a sparkle-bomb in the mail over breakfast, also received subscriptions to Witch Weekly and Playwizard (Ginny was fond of pranks-by-owl), slipped dungbombs into his Quidditch locker so that it and his uniform smelled for days, transfigured his books into slugs and greatly enjoyed it when she saw him vanish them—he had insulted her on the lame prank before realizing his books were gone, and she kindly informed him that he might disagree when classes began. The look on his face had been priceless. On top of it all they traded insults whenever they passed each other in the hallways, and more fights were only averted thanks to professors conveniently popping up. Ginny wasn't so sure their appearances were coincidental; she rather suspected that tabs were being kept on them so that their conflict didn't fall into violence again.

The Terrorism War went on for a little over a week before people began noticing; but once they did Ginny had to fend off warnings and questions from professors, prefects and fellow Gryffindors. McGonagall, for example, treated her quite a bit more coolly than normal during classes and Snape, who had usually ignored her presence in his class, began picking on her the way she knew he did to her brother and his friends. She suffered through quite a few detentions and her parents were written to about her deteriorating behavior—luckily she received only angry letters from Mum and Dad, not a Howler. Fred and George, however, wrote a few times to congratulate her on keeping up tradition.

Then Ron, Harry and Hermione all loyally butted in, asking her if she needed help, demanding to know why she and Malfoy were such fervent enemies all of a sudden, and on occasion threatening Malfoy so he would leave her alone, which of course never worked.

"Listen," she would sigh to them in the common room, "I don't know why Malfoy decided to bother me this year, but I'm taking care of it."

"Taking care of it?" Hermione would snort, "you've gotten three detentions in the past week, and have lost this house I don't know how many points; probably over a hundred—"

"_Hardly_ that many, and anyway, Malfoy's lost just as many for Slytherin. Can you guys please just stay out of this?"

"Gin, you know we can take on Malfoy and his dumb friends," Ron would put in. "Why don't you let us scare them off?"

"Because I don't _need _you to. I'll do this on my own, thank you very much." Harry would just stand by looking grim, which was the worst of all, but nothing her friends could say would dissuade her from battling Malfoy.

It occurred to her after a couple of weeks of pranking that she could get at his food source easily; once she did that he would never feel safe at his usual seat at the head of the Slytherin table again. She owled her twin brothers for some Skivving Snackboxes, preferably the puking kind, and late one night made her way down to the kitchens. It was a dangerous excursion for her, of course, because unlike her brother or Harry she had no invisibility cloak or Marauders' Map (how mad she had been when she found out the twins had given it to Harry! But of course, she hadn't deserved it at the time, having been rather quiet at school and not showing her true joker self). It took a good half hour of running and ducking behind corners and suits of armor just to get to the damn painting of fruit. Checking that she still had her Snackboxes on her, she tickled the pear and stepped in.

The kitchens were mostly quiet, as the house-elves were off sleeping wherever they slept, but Ginny didn't mind. She knew where the replicas of the house tables were, and she made her way there. It was easy to distinguish the Slytherin table, and she walked over to the head of it and grinned at Draco's plate. As she took out her Snackbox, however, she heard a loud _clink!_ and looked up to see what had made the noise. Standing at the Gryffindor table, holding a potion vial in his hand and glaring at her, was Draco Malfoy. Ginny jumped about a foot into the air and took a step back from his plate, before recollecting herself and returning the icy stare. He stormed over.

"Just what do you think you're doing, Weasel?" he demanded angrily.

"What were _you _doing at the Gryffindor table?" They glared at each other for a good few moments, but it quickly became clear that neither was going to answer. Ginny, for her part, thought that it was rather amusing they had caught each other attempting the same prank, but was sure that he would not feel the same way; his objective sense of humor was lacking.

There was, therefore, only one viable alternative. She whirled around, marched decidedly over to the countertop where food for the morning's breakfast was laid out, picked up an egg, and hurled it directly at Malfoy's chest. He didn't have time to move; he hadn't been expecting her to attack; the egg smashed right into him and splattered down his robes. A moment of awful silence followed and for a moment Ginny was sure she had gone too far, as he didn't move a muscle, but when she noticed some of the yolk on his cheek she couldn't help herself. She burst out laughing.

If it was at all possible for him to grow any stiller, he did as Ginny stood there laughing at him. Her laughter died out, however, when he stalked towards her with a blank look on his face. She slowly stepped out of his way, but he ignored her, reached to the counter, and picked up his own egg. This time Ginny hadn't the time to react, and Malfoy slammed the egg down onto her head. She could feel the liquid oozing through her hair and into her ears and she wiped some off of her forehead. Malfoy just sneered, and that was something she couldn't allow. She reached for the flour. He grabbed the milk.

It was an out and out food fight.

"You're going to pay!" Ginny cried as they chased each other around the kitchens, hurling food back and forth and laughing every time they scored a hit. Well, Ginny laughed, while Malfoy managed to look pleased without changing his sneer.

"What's is going on?"

"Our breakfast!"

"The kitchens! The floors!"

"No! No! No! No!" Out of nowhere horrified-looking house-elves appeared, and Ginny and Malfoy stopped dead in their tracks.

"Please, please masters, no more! We works very hard to keep the kitchens clean! Please, if you is wanting something, let us get it." It was quite clear that the students were not lacking for food, as they were both covered from head to toe in chocolate, flour, pumpkin juice, egg, and milk, but Ginny did not bother to point this out. The elves looked too miserable for rational conversation, and besides, she felt quite guilty for waking them up.

"No, that's quite alright, I don't need anything. We were just going." She could feel Malfoy's disbelieving stare on her, but did not turn to look.

"Oh, well if masters is leaving," and suddenly half a dozen house elves had surrounded the two of them and were pushing them gently but firmly towards the entrance.

"I'm sorry," Ginny said as the portrait closed in her face.

"You're _apologizing_ to _house-elves_?"

"And why not? We woke them up."

"Who cares? They're house-elves." Before she could respond, however, she noticed a small figure turn the corner of the hallway.

"Eep!" she let out as Mrs. Norris turned and ran away. "C'mon!" she said, and fled in the opposite direction.

"What?" Malfoy demanded, running after her.

"Filch!" He picked up his pace, and she struggled to keep up with him. But he didn't know where he was going. Ginny knew that the closest place to hide was the Selective Student Shelter Cabinet, thusly dubbed by her twin brothers, a room that only opened for Weasleys, as far as they could tell. Or perhaps redheaded students. Fact of the matter was that neither Malfoy nor Filch would know about it, and it was an ideal hiding place.

"Stop!" they heard Filch shout, and they only ran harder. So far he hadn't caught up enough to see them. Then Ginny spotted it—the very small door that shimmered vaguely on the wall.

"This way," she hissed, grabbing Malfoy's arm and heading towards it.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, but then the door opened and they jumped through it and eased it shut. A few moments later they heard Filch and Mrs. Norris run by, and Ginny took a deep breath of relief. "How did you spot this door?" Malfoy whispered, re-alerting her to his presence. All of a sudden Ginny was aware that they were sitting very close without tearing each other's throat out, and it was quite an odd feeling.

"I think you have to know it's here. And I think it only opens for redheads." She opted for that explanation, not wanting to open up her family to insult. He snorted anyway, so she stopped talking. They sat in silence for quite a few minutes, neither feeling secure enough to try heading back to their dorms. It was _weird._


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: After a long, long wait, I'm proud to present (drumroll)...chapter 8! It's a bit shorter than the others, but I wanted to get it up and out there, since it's been so long. Thank you, thank you Opalfire for reviewing--it's the only reason I picked this story up again! See how much difference a review makes? Please read and review!

Standard disclaimer applies.

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**Chapter 8**

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This was, quite possibly, the weirdest thing he'd ever experienced. Draco found himself huddled in a small cupboard in the wall, just tall enough to sit up in and only a few feet deep, with Ginny Weasley curled up right beside him. They hadn't spoken for some minutes, and Draco cast a few sideways glances at her. She was a right mess, looking disgusting with eggs and flour covering her pumpkin-stained clothes. He snickered at the ridiculous picture she presented, and Weasley's head snapped in his direction at the sound.

"What's so funny?" she demanded in a hostile whisper. Draco just smirked, knowing she could see him in the dim light filtering in from the cracks around the door. "What are you laughing at?"

"Just wish I had a camera," he drawled, hoping to rile her up. "You look like you've been rummaging for food in a trash heap. I could finally prove that you Weasleys really _do_ live in a bin." He waited for her infuriated reaction and was shocked to see a mischievous smile grow on her face.

"Pot and kettle, Malfoy. Would you like me to summon a mirror? Or the camera you wanted—I think people would be much more interested in seeing a Malfoy looking like he lives in a dump, don't you?" Draco glanced down and realized, with a start, that he was quite as dirty as she was. _Ew. _

"This is all your fault—" he began, but froze when he saw her wand trained on him. He didn't have a chance to say anything, before—

"_Scourgify. Scourgify._" Methodically, without meeting his eyes, Weasley waved her wand all around his hair, clothes and extremities, cleaning off the food that she had thrown at him. As he watched her work, Draco found he was able to see the relation between this girl and the Ginny Weasley from his vision, despite the filth that covered her and the cheap robes she was wearing. He waited in silence until she finished, then worked on smoothing out all the wrinkles in his robes when she'd lowered her wand.

"Could you do me now?" she asked, with a hint of trepidation in her voice. Draco smirked again.

"I'll help clean you off, Weasley, but I'm afraid I don't grant sexual favors to Gryffindors." Weasley actually laughed, and Draco grinned as she did. Guess she had a sense of humor after all. "Now sit still, or I won't get everything." She did, and Draco returned the favor until she was as clean as a Weasel could get. Then there was a rather awkward silence.

"Er…d'you think Filch is gone by now?" Draco was glad she had said something; he was feeling decidedly jumpy sitting so close to her, probably, he thought, because he wasn't used to close contact with dirty Weasleys.

"Let's check. Look out the door and see if anyone's there."

"Why don't you?"

"What, are you scared? Aren't you supposed to be a Gryffindor, Weasley?"

"Yeah, I am. Fine, I'll check. You go on being the typical, cowardly Slytherin while I risk my neck. Sound good to you?"

"Sounds perfect." She let out a half-laugh, half-snort of disgust, and crawled forward towards the small door. She had to climb over his folded legs to reach it, and Draco jerked back when she brushed over him.

"Sorry," she whispered. He watched as she pushed the door open, and flattened his back against the far wall as she stuck her head out into the dimly lit corridor. Even if she got caught, hopefully Filch wouldn't spot him. Weasley ducked back in. "Coast looks clear to me. Think we should try it?"

"If no one's there, what choice do we have? Stay here?" He got to his knees, ready to crawl out.

"Right," Weasley said, not moving. She was glancing between him and the door.

"Gryffindor, remember? You go first."

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, and crawled out, getting to her feet just beyond the door. Draco followed her and brushed off his knees and bottom. "Right," Weasley whispered again. "Well, Slytherin is that way, Gryffindor is this way, so, erm, bye." She turned and started nearly running, but Draco leapt after her and stopped her.

"What are you, nuts?" he hissed. "You're going to run through the hallways at night like _that_?"

"Like what?" she demanded, looking over her clothes in a paranoid fashion. He rolled his eyes.

"Don't you have Potter's invisibility cloak or something?"

"No."

"You just ran around with no protection whatsoever?"

"Gryffindor, remember?" _Merlin save us all from Gryffindors_, Draco thought, annoyed at her foolishness.

"Well, you'll likely be caught if you go around like that, especially with Filch skulking somewhere nearby."

"It's not like I have a choice; or d'you want me to sleep in that cupboard?" Draco wasn't really listening, though, as he was busy having a furious debate with his conscience. It would only mean more risk for him, after all. And less sleep. A total waste of time. Nevertheless, he found himself irresistibly urged to help Weasley. _It's just to gain her trust,_ he finally rationalized. _I have to learn more about her, don't I?_

"Fine, I'll walk you."

"Wh-what?" To say that she was astonished would have been akin to saying Snape disliked Potter. Not quite the whole story.

"Shh! I won't do it if you plan on making that much noise! Now come here." She sidled over to him, watching curiously as he pulled out his Hand of Glory. When she saw it, she let out a cry of disgust and leapt back.

"Ugh! What is that?"

"Be _quiet_, would you? It's a Hand of Glory. It—"

"Ooh, really?" she crooned, approaching him again. "I didn't realize they were so gross, but I've heard of them. It's just so…real-looking. It's _not _a real hand, is it, Malfoy?"

"Of course not," he lied. "Now put out those corridor lights." As she did, he slipped a candle into the withered hand, which closed its fingers around it. He knew it would cast light for them only and leave the space around them unlit. "Come on," he said, then realized she couldn't see him.

"Malfoy?" There was a trace of fear in her voice, and while he was sorely tempted to scare her, he knew he couldn't risk her screaming.

"Sorry," he said brusquely, grabbing her hand. "Hold on." He placed her hand on the edge of the Hand he was holding.

"Oh! That's much better. Come on, Gryffindor is this way."

"I _know_," he said, rolling his eyes again and walking with her. "But be careful—we can still be seen if we're caught in a lit corridor."

"Okay." They continued along, peeking around corners and putting out the lights before entering a new hallway. "Malfoy," Weasley asked in a low voice after awhile. "Isn't the Hand of Glory dark magic?"

"Ugh. How is it any different from Prince Potter's invisibility cloak?"

"That's true. Except…aren't they used to rob houses?"

"Are we robbing a house now?"

"No, that's—"

"Do you think I need to rob anyone's house?"

"No, I guess not."

"Then it's not Dark Magic, is it?" _Stupid Gryffindors_. An invisibility cloak was much more dangerous than a Hand of Glory—just look at what Potter had done third year—but Draco was sure Weasley had never posed the question to her dream boy. He harrumphed in annoyance. "Don't know why I'm doing this," he muttered, and saw Weasley wince.

"I didn't mean anything by it, Malfoy. I'd just only read about them in Dark Arts books—"

"All written by prejudiced Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, I'm sure." She smiled, and the tension thankfully dissolved.

"I said Dark Arts books, not defense books. So that means Slytherin authors, I'm afraid. Or Hufflepuffs, of course." Draco guffawed, and Weasley immediately slapped her palm over his mouth.

"Gerroff," he said irritably, jerking his head away.

"Keep it down, then!"

"Yeah, yeah. Still can't believe I'm doing this."

"Me either, actually. Did one of those eggs to the head knock something loose up there?"

"Probably. Expect an owl from my lawyers first thing tomorrow."

"What would you sue a Weasley for?" Draco glanced at her, surprised she had mentioned her family's poverty when he had so tactfully avoided doing so.

"I could have you in debt to me for the rest of your life. That would be worth it."

"Don't you mean the rest of _your _life? You're a year older than me, you'll probably die sooner. Plus witches live longer."

"I'm a Malfoy, we live lives of luxury. You'll probably tire yourself out having twenty kids or something."

"You arse!" she replied, shoving him lightly with her elbow. But it was a friendly sort of shove, and she was smiling good-naturedly. As for himself, he realized that instead of smirking maliciously because he had hit a sore spot, he was smiling because he had made her laugh. What was going on?

"Had to live in a bloody tower, didn't you?" he panted as they reached the seventh floor landing. "Ruddy Gryffindors have to do everything the hard way."

"And yet, somehow, it's the Slytherin who's gone out of his way tonight for no personal gain. Unless you're trying to get in my pants?"

"In your dreams, Weasley," he said as they arrived at the corridor where the Gryffindor's portrait hole was. "Besides, you were the one who propositioned me, remember? Don't try to turn this around."

"I wouldn't dream of it; that's a Slytherin skill. In any case, Malfoy, I get off here. Erm…thanks for walking me. That was really decent of you." She sounded very doubtful.

"Yes, I can hear the sincere gratitude in your voice, Weasley. A very genuine thank you."

"I'm sorry. You have to admit, it's kind of hard to grok—a Malfoy rendering service to a Weasley?"

"I think a lot of things have been turned upside down tonight. Personally, I'm going back to my dorm and am going to forget this ever happened." Weasley smiled at that.

"Sounds like a plan to me. Then, well…see you…"

"Preferably never again."

"Right. Never again." This time, neither sounded like they really meant it. Weasley stood there for a moment, looking at him, then said abruptly, "goodnight, then!" and hurried down to the Fat Lady portrait. He watched her whisper the password and climb in the hole. When the painting finally shut again, Draco broke out of his daze and hurried off to his dormitory.

A very bizarre night indeed. He would have to think it over very thoroughly—he had no intention of forgetting about it at all.

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